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Tuesday, October 30, 2012

My First College Date (With Apologies to Anthony Burgess)

She was a pretty blonde devochka with great big groodies and a smile that would light up a room. I was intro-doocied to her by some mutual droogies who admired the way we both used our gullivers-like; we tended to slooshy the same things and made up our rassodocks most logical.

They all thought we'd get on, as they say.

She made a list that afternoon, and suggested we go viddy a film about a fellow named Alex who drank moloko-plus and did a bit o' the ol' ultra-violence; we'd both slooshied the book in class, like, but had never viddied the show, as both our P's and M's wouldn't have allowed it, like.

We went to a Russian restaurant popular at the time with us schooltypes; the pischa was mainly lomticks of overcooked meaties and other vareeties served up good and hot.

After the sinny, we went and had coffee at a little place near the school; it was in a spot near the municipal flatblocks and underpasses where hairy unwashed crustoodniks hung out; their keeshkas going ‘blurp; blurp’; skvatting anything of value-like; the coffeeshop was set-up for suchlike where we heard another devotcha warble and crark about how baddiwad her jeezny was, and how she'd like her bolsly bratty to bail her out. The coffee was horrorshow; the music was - well, it wasn't Ludwig Van, for-certain, it was all gloopy folk-chepooka.

I saw her a few times after that, mainly from class-to-class and being all fagged for study and the like; all the other lewdies we knew told me she was a bit molodoy for me, even though there was only a year between us. Devotchkas are that way when they're too malenky.

In later years I learned she'd been tradin'-glazbals with some bolshy moodge in one of her other classes, and took up with him all sladky-like, moving clear away and never finishing school. Best, I gather.

As for Your Humble Narrator, he slooshied good the words of his P, who told him that devotchkas were a razcrast in the first order, and that keeping his glazbals on his work was the best way to finish up with skolliwol and avoid the life which many of my early droogies were bound toward.

Not wanting to end up rabbiting in some factory for hen-korm and drinking m'self bezoomy on the weekend, likely to get m'zoobies tolchocked out o' m'head by an overzealous millicent, I stayed on the straight-and-narrow, and didn't mess with ptitsas in general-like.

I graduated, all-proper, but every then-and-now some of my old droogies from that day govoreet on the time we spent, and I slooshy their slovos on where and how she might be.

It was a good time, that.

(Happy Hallowe'en!)
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